Conversation
by Darksknight
Summary: Chane can't speak, but she can talk. Claire can't hear her, but he can listen. (One-shot)
Chane can't speak, but she can talk. Claire can't hear her, but he can listen.

He likes being out in the night. It's cold, and dark, and as he runs effortlessly across the rooftops there's no one around to see him. He can see himself, in his mind's eye, as he bounds over the gaps between apartment building, soaring through the air like he'd been born to fly.

 _I was born to fall in love with her._ He thinks, and he can't help but smile. Thinking of her makes his heart flutter in a way it hasn't in a long, long time. _But that's a lot like flying, now, isn't it?_

Her window stands out amongst the hundred others in the night. It's not like some of the others in the building, which are alight with lamps or lights- it's pitch dark. She should be in bed around this time, since she rises with the sun, but he'd just gotten back from a rather pleasant evening of slaughter-type fun, and he was desperate to see her.

He landed and perched on her windowsill, tapping a gloved hand against the glass three times. He waits, but not for long- something stirs in the darkness, and suddenly he's staring at two disks of gold.

His smile broadens without his consent.

"Chane." He breathes. His breath fogs against the glass.

She unlatches the window and pulls it open for him, stepping to the side so he can slip into her room. She closes the window behind him, like she'd let him in through the door or something practical of that manner. He waits, not even bothering to take survey of the room. The only thing that matters in his world is Chane right now.

She turns to him; expectant- her face asks him why he's here.

"I wanted to see you." He steps forward and draws one of her hands into his, noticing that she's not wearing gloves. In fact, she'd not wearing much at all- a long, black silk nightgown rides inappropriately high on her thighs. "I'm sorry, I musta' come at a bad time."

She shakes her head 'no,' like her state of dress isn't a problem.

He drops her hand and ducks his head, trying to hide the way he smiles. Quickly, he tugs off his gloves, toes off his shoes, and shrugs out of his coat. He doesn't face her as he does so, thinking that if he looked at her as he partially undressed he might start going red. "It's cold out tonight."

She slips past him to her bed, scooting towards the wall. She folds her legs under the covers and rests against the headboard, waiting.

"Mind if I join ya?"

She shakes her head.

"How kind of you." He slips under the covers next to her, grinning. "Sorry if I get blood on your sheets, Chane. Fear not- none of it's mine. But you knew that, didn't ya?"

She just looks at him. Clearly, she knows he doesn't expect her to answer the question.

"Right. Sorry, I know I'm bein' a little weird an' all tonight, but I was just so excited to see ya." He sighs wistfully. "I know it's only been a month, but in my world it's been years. I'm afraid to admit I may have even rushed my job tonight."

She raises a single brow at him.

"I know. Unbelievable, right? Me, Vino, leaving hardly any mess. Rushin' a job." He shakes his head. "Love's made a fool outa' me. Don't worry, though." He is sure to pin her with his gaze. "It's not made me soft in the least."

Her face softens. She knows what he means- that he'll protect her, and the things that she loves, and her world as a whole as ardently as ever. Even though she's not yet accepted his proposal of marriage, he's taken care to be there for her as though she were already his wife. And he continues to make sure she knows that will never change.

"You changed your hair." He reached out with bare hands and tucks a small strand behind her ear so he can see her eyes better. "You're beautiful, Chane." His fingers grace the curve of her cheek. His heart stutters when she blushes.

She looks away from him, quickly. That, of all things, gets his attention.

"Hey now," he says, and he can't help but brush his fingers over her cheek again. "Don't go hidin'. I wanna know what it is you've got to say to me, and lookin' away's just gonna make me curious."

She shyly looks back up at him; not enough for him to gauge her expression.

It had been a year since she'd agreed to befriend him. A year since she'd told him she could fall in love with him. And through all of the blushing, and tentative half-touches, he'd fallen harder, and faster, and he hoped to God that he'd taken her down with him.

Now, he was sure that maybe- just maybe- he had.

"You can tell me." He says, softly. "What is it?"

She looks up fully. Her eyes are hesitant. He can see what she's saying- the silent, _I don't know if I want to say it. I'm not sure if I'm ready._

"Whatever you've got on your mind, you don't need to hide it from me, Chane." He drops his hand from her face and doesn't miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes. "Even if you say something now, I wouldn't hold it against ya if you wanted to take it back later. I'm a man of my word."

She knows he is. She's been fed lies her entire life, but never once by him. And yet, the question is still there. _What if you change your mind?_ She asks. _What if you hurt me too? What happens when you stop loving me?_

These are all questions he's seen before. "Chane." He says, and he takes her hands in between his own again. The feel of her skin against his own confirms what he already knows a hundred times over- there is nothing in his world he loves more than this woman. "I will never betray you."

She stares at him.

 _I love you._ Her eyes say.

 _I love you._ Her mouth moves.

 _I love you._ Her hands clasp hard around his.

He leaned forward so that their foreheads rest together. "Chane." He whispers, loving the way the name rolls off his tongue. "Chane." He smells the French perfume she puts on sometimes and wonders if she knew he'd come to see her. "I wish I was a writer. So I could form words to tell you just how happy you've made me. To tell you how much I love you." He opens his eyes and meets hers- he feels his heart melt inside. "But I promise you, that so long as you'll let me, I will spend the rest of forever showing you."

Her eyes well with tears, and for the first time, the words are there. _I'm so happy._ He wants to see those words reflected in her eyes every day, every night. _I'm so, so happy._

-o0o-

"You must be wondering why you're here." Claire stalks around his victim, watching the man twitch in his seat- bound as he is, he can't watch Vino in the way he wants to. "You might have an idea. Maybe a certain Gandor wants you dead. Maybe you've violated the sacred laws of this world. Maybe- and here's the real kick in the teeth- maybe you're a traitor to those who trusted you." He comes to stand before the man, putting a foot on the edge of the chair the man is bound to. He leans in close. "Any of these things could be why you're going to die. But I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. They're not the real reason why you're here today."

"I- I swear." The man stutters. "I didn't do nothin! It was-"

"I think now may be a good time for you to stop talkin." Claire advises. He stands tall. Looking behind his captive, to the shadows, he smiles and nods. Chane emerges from the darkness and walks into the bound man's line of sight.

He sucks in a deep breath.

Claire can't help but grin as he walks over to Chane, casually slipping an arm around her waste. "I don't believe you've been introduced." He says. "Chane- a dead man. Dead man- my wife."

His eyes go impossibly wider.

He lets Chane go, and steps forward. "Now ya see, doncha?" He takes in a breath of the man's fear. "You dared to spit words at my love- you thought that you could call her anything other than a woman." He laughs. "You were wrong. And though my beautiful wife does not mind such vulgar words when they're aimed at her, I most certainly do." He cracks his knuckles.

"She- I- but-"

"Words won't save you now, my friend." He looks over his shoulder at Chane. "How do you want it done? Its your right, ya know."

There's a beat of silence.

Laughing once, Claire turns back to his victim. "Now here's a conundrum." He says. "Her hands say she doesn't care how it's done. But her eyes tell me a different story." Sighing, he slices the bonds before the man can so much as blink, and in the next instant Claire has him up off his feet. "So the tracks it is."

-o0o-

"Firo, my friend." Claire rises and shakes hands with the man in the green, smirking. "It's been a while. Ennis with you?"

"She's runnin behind." He answers. He looks to Claire's left and inclines his head. "Nice to see you too, Chane."

She nods back at him.

"Have you been here before, Claire?"

Claire frowns slightly. "Firo, my friend, my name is Felix Walken to everyone but my lovely wife." He smiles a little. "You wouldn't happen to be her, would you?"

Firo laughs, good-natured as always. "Fine, fine, if you say so, _Felix_."

They sit, and just as they do so, a waitress approaches the table. "What can I get for you?"

"Ennis will want the zuppa toscana. I'll get the ziti al frono myself."

The waitress turns to Claire and Chane. "And for you?"

"I'll just have rigatoni- the res sauce, please." Claire smiles at the waitress and suppresses a chuckle when she blushes. "What's it gonna be today, doll?" He turns to Chane.

Firo watches, waiting for a piece of paper to appear between the couple with an answer to Claire's question. He's amazed, however, as he watches on.

Chane gives a gentle shrug.

"Well I don't care." Claire says. "Whatever you want- don't matter."

She raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, hey now- you said you wouldn't hold the new jacket against me." He pulls the collar out a bit to prove his point. "And i's nothin we can't afford. So pick what ya want, price don't matter."

She gives a small sigh, thins her mouth into a line, and then seems to relent. She lifts her hand and makes a small gesture, not so much as inclining her head towards the menu.

"Again? And here I thought you'd try everything on the menu before picking a favorite." He shrugs. "If you say so." Turning to the baffled waitress, he says, "My wife wants the fettuccine alfredo. Little bit less sauce than what ya normally got in there."

The waitress blinks. "Ah... y-yes! Yes, right away." She scurries off to put their order to the kitchen.

It's around then Ennis comes in. She hurries to their table and pulls out a seat, nodding her hellos at Chane and Claire. Turning to Firo, she asks, "What did I miss?"

He continues to stare at Claire. "To be perfectly honest," he says, "I'm not so sure myself."

-o0o-

"How do you do it?" Nice asks. Chane is in the bathroom cleaning up; she'd gotten blood on her new white dress, and because of it, they'd had to make a pit stop of sorts.

"Hm?" Claire had been listening to her movements in the bathroom.

"How do you do it?" Nice repeats. "Ya talk ta her like she's talkin right back."

He blinks once. Then, inexplicably, he starts to laugh.

Nice pinks. "Well ya don't have to be a bastard about it!"

"No, no, you misunderstand." He tries to stifle his laughter. Straightening back up, he swallows back the last of his laugh and then shakes his head. "It's just such an outta-the-blue question, I couldn't help but be amused."

"Well, are ya gonna answer, or just laugh at me, huh?"

"Easy, easy." He holds his hands up and smiles. "I was getting there."

"Well I ain't the patient type, and I don't like being laughed at."

He considers explaining he wasn't laughing at her, but more at the absurdity of the question. He decides against it, though, since it's very clear that Nice just wants an answer, and- as she just stated- she really isn't a patient person.

He sighs. Inside the bathroom, Chane starts the bath, and he can't help but smile a little softer at the thought of her finally relaxing for a minute.

"It's kinda hard to put into words, ironically enough." He muses. "Chane can't speak, but she can talk. An maybe I can't hear her, but I sure as hell can listen." He shrugs. "You just gotta take the time to notice what she's sayin is all."

-o0o-

He takes her hands and leads them to his lips. He kisses each one of her bruised knuckles, eyes closed in rapture. When he finished he looks up at her from under his eyelashes. The sun casts a halo behind her head.

 _I know._ He says, but his mouth doesn't move where it rests against the back of her hands. _I know you're afraid. I'm afraid. I've never been afraid like this before. I know._

 _What are we going to do?_ She asks. She swallows hard as tears begin to form in her eyes. _A child. A child. How can we have a child?_

 _We'll make it work._ He smiles. _I'm scared. But I'm also happy._

 _How can you be?_

 _Because,_ he says. He leans forward, tucking stray strands of her hair back behind her ear as he kisses her forehead. He leans back and meets her eyes once again. _How can we go wrong? We'll be together. Our world just got so much better_

 _Claire... This could kill us. This could ruin us._

He chuckles. "I hear ya', Mrs. Walken." he says. He presses his forehead to hers. "I hear you. Loud and clear." He kisses her again, and its only then he sees that she really is crying. He can't help but feel the sting of tears, too.

Two assassins, parents? Two people who'd never really had parents, with a child? It wouldn't ever work.

"When your father took your voice away," He says, slowly, "He told you that you'd never speak again, didn't he?"

She nods.

"Then there you have it." He says, and smiles. "Proof that we accomplished the impossible. We've done it once before, and now we'll do it again. Sound good to you, Chane?"

She nods.

 _That's what I like to hear, my love._ He says. _That's what I like to hear._

-o0o-

"Conversation, you see, is about more than words." He tells his daughter. She stares at him with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is another one of his jokes. "I'm serious. Words don't matter nothing in conversation."

"Then what is conversation?" She challenges.

"It's understanding." He says.

"I'm... not sure I understand."

"You will." He says. He meets his Chane's eye across the way. "Well, _I_ think you will. Your mother says she's not so sure."

She pouts.

"Now, no more distractions. You're holding the knife all wrong, you see. Give it here. We'll start again."

"Why don't you teach me conversation instead?"

He laughs. "Oh, now, that's not something that can be taught. It's something you've got to learn." He taps her nose with his index finger. "You'll figure it out one day. And once you do, you'll be able to hear those things that people think they can't say."

"Promise?"

"Promise."


End file.
